Captive Audience
by crematosis
Summary: When the bad guys capture Clint and demand to know SHIELD secrets, they forget that it's almost his anniversary. And if he's going to suffer on his anniversary, so will they.


A/N: So, this is my first foray into Clint/Phil, based on a prompt from Avengerkink. As a word of warning, I haven't seen Agents of SHIELD, so apologies for any inaccuracies/canon errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel stuff, which should be obvious by my completely and utterly not knowing what I'm doing.

Phil leaned back in his seat and made another quick scan of the coffee shop. Still no sign of Clint.

It wasn't like him to be late to one of their weekly dates, but he would probably barge through the doors any minute now with a litany of apologies and an armful of shopping bags. Phil had gotten a text from Tony last night, expressing how excited he was to be able to take Clint shopping for anniversary presents. And knowing Tony, he would quickly lose all track of time.

Phil frowned at his watch. He had been waiting long enough. It was time to interrupt their shopping spree.

But Clint's phone rang three times before going to voicemail. Phil left a message reminding Clint that as an Avenger and a SHIELD agent, it was bad form to leave his phone at home and that he really didn't need him blowing his entire paycheck on gifts, no matter what Tony tried to tell him.

He waited another minute and then tried Tony. Luckily, Tony picked up on the first ring.

"Tony, is it too much trouble to-"

"Oh, hey, Agent. I was wondering when you'd call. It's no big-oh, shit. He's coming back. Hide, quick! All of you. You know how much you freak Steve out. Yes, you, too, Boltbrain. Where? Uhh, I don't know, under the lab bench, probably?"

Phil sighed as several seconds of loud crashing and swearing ensued. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"Oh, no," Tony said cheerfully. "No need to apologize. I'm totally, totally happy for you. Clint still owes me a Slurpee, though. Don't let him forget that."

Phil chuckled. "I won't. I'll let him know as soon as I see him."

"What? He's not with you?"

"No, not yet. When did he leave your place?"

There was a long pause and then Tony cleared his throat. "Well, this is awkward. You know what they say when you make assumptions, right? You make an ass out of you and-"

"Cut the crap, Stark. What happened?"

"Clint never showed up this morning."

Phil's hand tightened around the phone. "Did he call to cancel?"

"No. I know it's not like him to forget to call or anything but I thought maybe you two were busy having really great pre-anniversary sex last night. I mean, he's not…nothing happened, right?"

"I don't know," Phil said. "We have to find him first."

"Don't worry, Coulson, I've got this. Jarvis! Jarvis, can you bring up-"

The call disconnected and Phil rose from his seat, sending messages to various SHIELD contacts as he headed for the car. He could count on Tony Stark to track Clint's last moves electronically, but SHIELD would have information on any cases Clint was working on.

When he pulled up in front of Clint's apartment, one of the new SHIELD recruits was standing outside.

"The apartment is clear, sir. No sign of Agent Barton. But this was left on his pillow." He held up a crumpled piece of paper with a ransom demand scrawled in what appeared to be crayon.

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is this your idea of a joke, Agent Bordello?"

The agent's eyes went wide. "No, sir. Absolutely not, sir. I would never-"

Phil waved a hand dismissively. "Take it to the lab. Have them check it for prints, analyze the handwriting, compare it to known threats in the area. And find me surveillance of the area. "

The agent scribbled a few notes onto his clipboard. "Right away, sir."

"Find him," Phil said firmly. The last thing he wanted was for Clint to be spending their anniversary in some villain's lair.

When Clint woke up, he was immediately struck by a strong sensation of wrongness. His limbs felt heavy, his tongue felt thick, and his face itched. It had been a long time since he had been in this sort of situation, but he still remembered the effects of chloroform.

His first hopeful thought was that maybe Phil had kidnapped him and dragged him off somewhere secluded for their anniversary.

But, no, Phil would never do something like this without some kind of warning. And he would know better than to knock Clint out for the actual kidnapping. That was the fun part, seeing how difficult he could make things for Phil before he got his hands tied.

Besides, he was supposed to meet Phil for lunch at noon. Phil wouldn't schedule anything he didn't plan on attending. And shit, he was supposed to meet Tony at the mall this morning. He groaned. How was he supposed to get his shopping done if he was kidnapped?

"Told you he wasn't dead."

Clint's eyes snapped open. That was definitely not a voice he recognized.

He didn't recognize the face either. And it was a very unforgettable sort of face, riddled with pock marks, acne, and scarring. And the man's suit was as worn as his face. But, hey, he didn't see many lowlife thugs in suits these days, so he had to give the man a little credit. Only a little.

The man grinned, revealing crooked, yellowing teeth. "Good morning."

"I doubt it," Clint said. He shifted a little, trying to get feeling back in his limbs. Mercifully, he wasn't bound, but he was still in no position to escape. "When you start the day off kidnapped, it can only go down from there."

The grin faded. "Look, pal, we've gone easy on you so far. Show a little respect."

"Yeah, respect."

Clint turned his head to study the second speaker. He was a big man, almost as wide as he was tall. And obviously not the brains of the operation with that slack-jawed expression. The lumpy mattress he was lying on was probably smarter. But, the two had managed to kidnap him, so Scar and Barrel Chest had to be doing something right.

"I've got plans for today," Clint said. "So, why don't we skip to the part where you make your ridiculous demands? We can have a good laugh about it and I'll try not to blow up your evil lair on my way out."

Scar snorted. "You think we're just going to let you go after we went through all this effort to get you here?"

Clint yawned and only half-listened as Scar started ranting about how long it took them to prepare for the kidnapping. He was interested in how they managed to break into his supposedly secure apartment. But everything else was just so much noise. Blah blah blah, shopping for supplies, blah blah blah, stealing a car, blah blah blah, pouring the chloroform on-

He jerked upright. "You put chloroform on a pair of underwear? Fucking disgusting. What the hell is wrong with you people?"

"They're clean," Barrel Chest protested.

"I don't care if they're clean or not. It's the principle of the thing. You all couldn't be assed to find a towel or something?"

Scar gritted his teeth. "You're our prisoner, you moron. You don't get to tell us how to do things."

"Yeah, sure, you know exactly what you're doing. Must be why I have no idea who the hell you people are."

Scar puffed out his chest proudly. "Everyone will know our name soon enough. We are the Bad Intentions Group, Division of Information-gathering, Coercion, and Kidnappings."

"Hell no," said Clint. "Hell no." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I refuse to be kidnapped by a group called BIG DICK. This is bullshit."

Tony was going to laugh at him later, he just knew it. Why couldn't he manage to get kidnapped by a more threatening evil syndicate? AIM, maybe, even the sad remnants of Justin Hammer's organization. There'd at least be some dignity in that.

"We don't call ourselves BIG DICK," Scar snapped. "We are the Bad In-"

Clint waved a hand dismissively. "Bad Intentions Group. Yeah, got it the first time. Was it your intention to come up with a name with the stupidest acronym possible, or was that just a coincidence? Either way, it looks bad for you."

Scar's jaw tightened and Clint could hear the scrape of his teeth grinding together. Not a good move for a man with his dental hygiene.

The man squeezed his eyes shut briefly and when he opened them again, he seemed a little calmer, a little more controlled. "All we need is a little information," he said. "And then we'll let you go."

"Like I'm going to tell you assholes anything."

Scar's eyes narrowed. "We have ways of making you talk."

"Oooh, scary. What are you going to do, flop your giant dicks in my face?"

Scar didn't respond to his taunt, which was a little disappointing. "If you do not cooperate, we will eliminate your loved ones, one by one, starting with your family."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Oh no, you're going to kill my already deceased parents? The horror, the horror."

"There is more to a family than blood."

Sure, Clint knew that. But the only people he considered family were-

"Oh god, the Avengers? You're going to try killing the Avengers?" He could barely talk he was laughing so hard. "I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, but a threat is only effective if you can carry it out. And I don't believe for a second you can kill a single one of us, even if you caught Tony out of his suit."

Tony was absolute shit at combat out of his Iron Man armor, but as Phil had said over and over, Tony's superpower was annoying his captors to death. And Clint had learned from the best.

"Perhaps we should start with your lover, Agent Coulson."

Clint snorted. "You touch Phil and everybody's going to show up to kick your asses."

All the Avengers loved Phil in their own special way. Clint was the only one allowed to love him sexually, of course. The rest of them loved him like a brother or a cousin or some other relative. A relative who occasionally dumped disciplinary forms and other paperwork on them. So, maybe they were kind of a weird family.

"We would rather not involve Agent Coulson," Scar said. "We'd like to make this quick and painless. Just tell us everything you know about SHIELD's next moves and we can all go home."

"Do I look like I know about SHIELD's next moves? I'm an Avenger, remember? One big happy family of superheroes that are totally coming to kick your ass for fucking with me."

Scar's lips curved into a wicked smile. "I couldn't help but notice that you're living in a SHIELD-issue apartment instead of at the Tower with the rest of your family."

"So, what? I like my privacy. Besides, we're more of an extended family than anything else. Tony's the crazy uncle and Natasha's like my cousin. Or maybe Phil's cousin, because I used to date her, you know, and it would be weird to date your own family."

Scar blinked, his eyes glazing over as Clint rambled on, slotting each of the Avengers into their position in his theoretical family.

Tony would be proud.

"SHIELD-issue apartment," Scar blurted out suddenly.

"Yeah, so?"

He sighed sadly. He hadn't finished classifying Steve and Phil's relationship yet. It was some weird shit for sure and he could probably spend an hour talking about Phil's trading card and action figure collection, but Scar had oh so rudely interrupted.

"SHIELD. Issue. Apartment."

Clint laced his hands together behind his head and leaned back. "Phil worked it out for me. He was tired of me living in the air ducts."

"So, you do have ties to SHIELD after all."

"Phil doesn't tell me a damn thing. The better to keep secrets out of the hands of morons like you." He yawned hugely, mostly for show. "It'll probably take a few hours for that to sink in, so I might as well go back to sleep." He rolled over on the lumpy mattress and shut his eyes.

"Oh, no you don't," Scar hissed.

Clint blinked his eyes open as Barrel Chest grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet.

"You won't be so cocky after the boss gets through with you."

Ah, the big boss, the head of this little rag-tag group of idiots. Now they were getting somewhere.

Phil stared at the crumpled piece of paper on his desk. SHIELD had run it through every scan they could think of, but the handwriting didn't match any known suspects, and while the lab had determined that the many, many fingerprints all over the page came from a single individual, that person was not in SHIELD's databases.

"Give us SHIELD's secrets or Agent Barton dies," the note said. For a ransom note, it was awfully vague. There was no mention of a timeframe or a drop site. SHIELD was not going to part with valuable intel for one agent. But even if he could make the trade, Phil had no idea who these people were and no idea how to reach them. What did they expect him to do, post all of SHIELD's files on the Internet?

He pressed the speaker button on his phone. "Stark. Tell me you have something from the surveillance footage."

"Well," Tony said, the word drawn out a little more than Phil liked. "It's something. Not a good something, of course."

"I am not in the mood," Phil said warningly.

Tony cleared his throat. "Two guys loading Clint into the back of a nondescript van. One average height, on the skinny side. The other big and brawny."

Phil waited for Tony to continue, but the other man stayed silent. "That's it?" he said. "That's all we have?"

"Well," Tony said again. "They drove northbound from Clint's apartment."

Phil sighed. "No license plate?"

"Sorry," Tony said. "The surveillance at Clint's place sucks. I'll tell you the same thing I told Steve. Despite what all those cop shows may claim, you can only enhance crappy surveillance footage so far before it turns into a pixelated mess." He exhaled noisily. "When Clint gets back, I am hooking his place up with the best security system next to Jarvis. Fucking SHIELD. They have plenty of money to get a couple decent surveillance cameras. There's no excuse for this outdated 90's crap."

"We need his apartment to look inconspicuous," Phil said. "A high-tech security system in a low-budget apartment just screams out valuable target."

"I can do inconspicuous. Inconspicuous is my middle name."

There was a bark of laughter in the background.

"You shut the fuck up, Steve," Tony said. "These cameras are going to be such super-secret spy shit that Clint won't even know they're there. They're going to be in the bushes and the trees and the chimney and all the air ducts-"

"Let me talk to Captain Rogers," Phil said firmly. He knew Tony was doing the best he could, but his rambling was giving him a headache.

Tony huffed. "Don't come crying back to me when Cap gets confused about the technical stuff," he said. But he did pass the phone over to Steve.

"Have you looked through the footage?" Phil asked immediately.

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid it's not much to go on. Bruce was down here earlier taking a look, too, and he didn't find anything either."

"I love how nobody trusts me," Tony muttered in the background. "I want the bastard back, too, you know."

"This is all we have," Phil said. It sounded like a pathetic excuse. He had tracked down weapons smugglers, drug cartels, and con men with much less information. He should be able to find Clint.

"We'll go through the tape one more time and then we'll turn it over to SHIELD analysts," Steve said.

Tony made a dismayed sound.

"It's alright, Tony. You've done your best. No one faults you for that. But it's probably time we let SHIELD-"

"Oh, hell no. SHIELD's probably going to toss the tape in their big pile of Super Important Stuff We'll Get To Eventually and we won't get Clint back for another month. We can do this. Jarvis, roll the tape."

"I'm sorry, Coulson," Steve said. "You know how he gets. Stubborn as a-wait. Stop the video. Yes, right there. Is that a camera on that post?"

Phil's stomach tightened. He had been over to Clint's apartment only a week ago. Was this a new development or had he really missed the fact that dangerous people were spying on Clint?

Tony sighed. "It's just a red light camera. They're all over the place."

"I thought so," Steve said. There was a pause and then he continued in a more hesitant tone. "Can Jarvis hack into the traffic cameras?"

Tony snorted. "Can Jarvis hack into the traffic cameras? Can Jarvis-do you hear that, J? Cap's doubting your abilities."

"I'm sure the Captain is merely questioning the moral implications."

"Yes," Steve said. "Can we actually do this?"

"Dude. We shoot people in the face on a daily basis. Hacking is pretty tame, all things considering."

Steve sighed unhappily. "I'm sorry, Coulson. I don't want to get you in trouble with the government if they find out-"

"They won't," Tony said. "I'll be in and out faster than-hello, what's this?"

"What?" Phil said. "What are we looking at?" He wished he still had his phone with video call capabilities so he could actually see what was going on, but Tony had answered his calls naked one too many times.

"So, our kidnappers ran the red light, sideswiped an SUV, ran over someone's lawn-oh no, not the squirrel. Run, buddy, run! Oh, good, he's safe."

"Focus, Stark."

"Right, sorry. So, it looks like we can follow the swathe of destruction right to our kidnappers' lair. Cap, you're a genius. I could kiss you for this, but uh, maybe not. Pepper's gotten tired of people complaining about my bad breath."

Steve laughed. "Sounds like you've been kissing the wrong people, then."

"So, are you the right person, then?"

Phil could almost hear Steve's eye roll. "Alright, Coulson. We'll call you when we have more information."

Clint was shoved into a metal folding chair in the middle of an empty warehouse. He looked around critically. Was this supposed to be intimidating? There were no guards stationed inside the doors, no security cameras, no torture devices. Just the two flunkies. And still, they hadn't bothered to tie him up. Oh, he was going to get himself the hell out of this dump as soon as possible. But first, he was going to see what information the goons could give him. Probably not much, but it would be oh so satisfying to be getting more out of this adventure than they did.

He tapped a foot against the concrete floor. "I was promised an audience with the boss."

"Quiet," Scar hissed. "You'll get your chance soon enough."

They were probably going to make him wait for a while, counting on the anticipation to make him nervous and unsettled. But all it was going to do was make him bored. And a bored Clint was not going to be fun for them.

"How soon is soon? A couple minutes? A couple hours?" He shifted his weight, gratified by the sound of the chair scraping across the floor.

Scar grimaced. "Davis, do something."

Barrel Chest Davis cracked his knuckles and leveled Clint with a stern look.

Clint raised an eyebrow. Really? People actually did this sort of shit? He had assumed it was just a part of stupid spy movies. Wow. This was a new low for these guys.

"Go ahead and punch me," Clint said. "I dare you." A punch from the big guy would probably hurt, but again, he wasn't tied up so he liked his chances for dodging the blow.

"Easy," Scar said. "The boss needs him alive and kicking."

"Kicking," Clint said. "Right. I'm sure getting my kicks out of this. It's great, just great. I just love kickin' it with my new best friends."

Scar made a noise that was almost a whimper and jerked away from the chair. "I'll see how the boss is doing," he said. He twitched a hand in Davis' direction. "Stay here. And make sure you keep an eye on him."

Davis folded his arms over his chest and glared at Clint.

Well, okay then. Clint slouched down in the seat and started whistling.

Five minutes later, the far door opened. Clint straightened up. "Finally. The big dick himself."

He had expected another big man like Davis, someone who could easily intimidate his idiot subordinates. But the man at Scar's side was tall, pale, and gaunt.

"Slenderman!" Clint said. "I've been kidnapped by Slenderman. What an honor. Just wait until Tony hears about this."

The man's face remained impassive. "You think you're clever, Agent Barton? Think again. I have the upper hand here."

"For the moment," Clint allowed.

"It's up to me whether you live or die. So, if you want to walk out of here alive, you had better tell me exactly what I want to hear."

"Never been too good at that part. I've got a mouth on me, you know?"

"So start using it. I want to know everything you know about SHIELD's inner workings."

Clint rolled his shoulders. "I don't know much. I mean, look at me. I'm more muscle than brain. Just a tiny little insect in the big picture. A mosquito probably, if you ask Fury." Clint grinned. "He kind of hates my guts."

The man's eyes gleamed. "And even an insect like yourself has access to the building, to the files, to the databases. We can find what we need once you get us in."

Clint snorted. "Like I'm going to escort you into SHIELD."

"All we need is your access code. You can stay here until we get what we need."

"Fat chance, dick head. I'm not giving you shit."

The man circled around the chair in a careful, controlled stride. "I'm only going to ask you one more time, Agent Barton. Give me the security codes."

His hands tightened on the back of the chair, knuckles white and veins protruding. And Jesus did the guy have bony fingers.

They reminded Clint of Phil's one-time cellist friend from Portland. Nathaniel Something-or-Other. He had given Phil cello lessons because hell did the man ever need a hobby. And Clint had enjoyed watching Phil play, enjoyed seeing him a little more relaxed.

But then Nathaniel had started getting all up in Phil's space and stroking his neck with those weird hands. And Clint had never liked other people touching his boyfriend.

There were no more cello lessons after that. But maybe he could get Phil into some other instrument. He didn't seem like a guitar person. Maybe a piano? Yeah, that was it. He could get Phil piano lessons for an anniversary present and then Phil could play some dramatic chords to set the mood-

Clint suddenly found himself on the floor, looking up at the boss. And oh, he did not look happy. Clint recognized the barely controlled fury in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said pleasantly. "Were you saying something?"

"Take care, Agent Barton. You won't like me when I'm angry."

"Oooh, a Hulk joke. That's a good one. But no Hawkeye jokes? Come on, I know you have it in you."

Clint grinned as he watched the anger flood the boss' face. "That's right," he said. "I'm not worth it, am I? I'm nothing but trouble. Better cut your losses now and start on Plan B."

"We're not finished here," the boss said. "You are going to give us what we want sooner or later. You just need a little motivation. Boys, get the ropes."

Well, damn. There went his free movement. Oh well. No matter what they thought, he still had the upper hand. People tended to get sloppier when emotions were involved. He had pissed off enough people to know that by now.

Clint held his arms out, hands crossed at the wrists. "Do your worst, motherfuckers. I'm not talking."

"We'll see how you feel after a night alone in the basement."

Night already? What the hell was taking Phil so long?

Phil was still in his office late that evening. Nick Fury had told him in no uncertain terms that he wanted him to go home and let other people handle it, but Phil was not about to sit back and do nothing while Clint was out there. And what good was he going to do at home? He was just going to lie awake all night or pace down the hallway. It was better that he stay at SHIELD and stay productive.

The phone rang and Phil snatched it up on the first ring. "Have you found the location?" he asked, trying not to sound as eager as he felt.

"There's good news and bad news."

"Damnit, Stark," he growled.

"Okay, okay," Tony said quickly. "We traced the van down to its final destination. But here's the thing: it's an airplane hangar."

Phil sucked in a breath. "So Clint could be just about anywhere by now."

"Well, I-"

"I doubt it," Natasha cut in.

"Holy shit," Tony said. "What-when-how did you get in here?"

"Steve thought you'd concentrate better if I was here." There was just a hint of amusement in her voice. Phil had no doubt Natasha would take great delight in keeping Tony on task, using whatever means were necessary. It was great to have her on his side.

"What can you tell me, Natasha?"

"It's a small hangar," Natasha said. "Very small. In Tony's satellite images, there are only three planes on site. And they're not big commercial aircraft. They're just private planes, built for a pilot and maybe two passengers. They can't have gone far."

"They could always stop and refuel and continue on."

"Ah," Natasha said. "But then that would leave a trail for us to follow."

"Good work, you two. Stark, bring up whatever you can on this hangar. Since it's so small, it should be easy to track down every departure from the last twenty-four hours."

"On it," Tony said. "According to my sources, the hangar belongs to-oh shit. Donovan Mendoza's behind this? I knew that fat fuck was nothing but trouble."

"Would you like to share with the rest of the class?" Phil said dryly.

"Oh, right, right. See, he's one of my tech rivals. Not a big name really. He's a big guy himself, but-Ow! Jesus, Nat. Do you have to hit so hard?"

"Thank you, Agent Romanov," Phil said. "And where can we find this Mr. Mendoza?"

"He's got an office in Brooklyn, but I'm pretty sure he lives on the West Coast. I mean, he's crashed enough of my charity functions in Malibu."

"Good," Phil said. "Natasha can have a word with the people at Mr. Mendoza's office. I'm sure she can persuade them to give us information on Clint's whereabouts."

"Damn right," she said. "I'll make sure he tells me everything."

Clint uncrossed his wrists and slipped them out of the knot. Really, these guys were failing Hostage Tying 101.

He gave the dank basement a quick once-over. Metal folding table in the corner, old crates, boxes, and a tool box full of rusted screwdrivers. Nothing useful. Oh well.

The door leading back upstairs was out of the question, but the single small window almost ceiling-height looked promising. He shoved a few boxes against the wall and vaulted up to the window sill. It was a narrow squeeze out the tiny window, but please, he was Clint Barton. He was used to crawling through vents. A small window was nothing.

He dropped down on the other side of the window, right in the middle of what looked like an empty break room. But the door slid open, revealing two men with pistols.

Shit. Scar and his sidekick, Davis. Clint's lucky day.

"You shouldn't be out here," Scar sneered.

Clint sighed. What he wouldn't give for his bow right about now. Oh well, he'd improvise.

"Yeah, tell him, Rogers," Davis said. "You shouldn't be here."

Clint did a double-take. "Rogers? Any relation to Steve Rogers? You know, he's going to be very disappointed to hear his relative has gotten into a life of crime."

"No relation whatsoever. Lived here in Oregon all my life."

Here in Oregon. Now they were getting somewhere.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "You sure you don't have family in New York where you picked me up?"

Rogers sighed and fished out his ID. "Look. Oregon."

Albert Rogers. 5'11". 172 lbs. 361 Brookhurst Avenue. Portland, Oregon.

Clint smiled and handed back the license. "My mistake," he said. "Any relation to a guy named Nathaniel?"

Rogers studied him for a moment. "Boss' cousin," he said finally. "Nathaniel Parker."

Ding, ding, ding. He had a winner.

"If that's the case," Clint said. "I must have been wrong about you guys. Nathaniel's a cello player. How much harm could a cello player do with SHIELD secrets?"

Rogers' face split in a wide grin. "Great. I'll go tell the boss you're willing to cooperate."

Phil jerked awake at the sound of a file hitting his desk. He squinted upwards. "Natasha. Back already?"

"Portland," she said.

Phil sat up a little straighter. "Oregon? That's a long way from Malibu."

She smiled. "Mr. Mendoza contracted out to an organization calling itself the Bad Intentions Group. They're thugs for hire, basically. And they're willing to do everything from kidnapping to corporate espionage. Clint's being held by the Division of Information-gathering, Coercion, and Kidnappings in a warehouse in Portland. That's apparently the group's base of operations."

"Good work, Romanov. It's more information that we usually get."

"It was easy," she said. "He would have told me his home address and the combination to his safe if he thought it would keep him alive."

"So, not exactly a criminal mastermind."

"No," she said. "None of them are."

But that was what made it so important that they find Clint as soon as possible. These amateur criminals wouldn't be thinking rationally, having less resources and more to prove than a more established organization.

"Alright," he said. "Gather the team and get ready to move out."

Natasha nodded and patted his shoulder as she brushed by. She paused in the doorway. "And another thing," she said. "Nathaniel Parker is involved."

"What? That's impossible."

Phil had known Nathaniel since college. He had always been a little odd, a little overly excitable about his music, and had had a very unsubtle crush for as long as he'd known him. And Nathaniel had never gotten the hint, no matter how many times he tried to break it to him gently, that he wasn't interested. It had taken Clint yelling, "Touch my boyfriend again and you'll lose a finger," for him to finally get the message. And then he had stopped talking to Phil altogether. It had been five years since Phil had seen the man.

"He has a cousin," Natasha said. "A Tobias Parker." She walked back over to the desk and flipped the file open. "This is him," she said, pointing to the first page. "He wants revenge for his cousin's heartbreak. He kidnaps Clint, makes him give up access to SHIELD's vaults so Mendoza can get his hands on some Stark tech, and then he disposes of Clint."

Phil shut his eyes. This was the worst-case scenario. Things always tended to get violent when there were grudges and personal vendettas involved. Nobody would be thinking clearly.

"This is not a hostage negotiation," he said slowly. "They're not going to give up, even if we've got them surrounded."

Natasha nodded curtly. "I'll radio the team." She touched a hand to her ear. "This is Romanov. Get ready to move." And she was on her way, her heels clicking briskly over the tile.

Phil slid open his desk drawer and reached for his gun. Time to get Clint back.

"I hear you're willing to talk."

Clint met the boss' eyes squarely. So what if his hands were tied back behind his back? He wasn't intimidated. "You agree to let me go and I'll give you the code that'll let you into the building."

"No deal, Agent Barton. We need all of the codes. Getting into the building means nothing if we don't have access to all of SHIELD's assets." He smiled a predatory grin. "What use is a gun without bullets or an archer without his bow?"

So the guy was dropping hints now. Cute. But also stupid. They were after SHIELD's weapon supply, obviously. For what reason, Clint didn't exactly care. It couldn't be a good reason and that was enough.

"I'm getting you into the place," Clint said. "If you pass yourself off as a SHIELD agent, you can do the rest yourself."

The boss tugged at his knotted wrists. "You forget your place, Agent Barton. You're not going anywhere until I get what I want."

So, the man thought this was intimidating. This was nothing. Natasha had trained him well to withstand all sorts of torture. With sex, of course. After hours of being tied up and overstimulated until he was begging for release, he had quickly learned how to keep his cover in almost any situation. Of course, the one side effect was that when they were on missions together, he spent more time staring at her ass than focusing on his work. And she had finally been forced to break up with him.

But now she was with Bucky and he was with Phil and they were both happier. No hard feelings. They could even go undercover as a couple now without any problems.

So this was far from threatening. This was laughable. But he could keep his cool.

"I give you the codes and then what?" Clint tried. "You're probably just going to shoot me. As long as I have the codes, I have leverage."

"You have nothing," the boss hissed. "If you refuse to cooperate, I can have Davis beat you to a bloody pulp. And then you will only wish you were dead."

Ooh, how scary.

Clint spared Davis a sidelong look. "Okay, fine," he said. "I'll give you a couple codes. Front entrance, back entrance, main research level, and the weapons vault."

The boss' eyes were alight at the last offer, just as Clint suspected. He could try to hide his reaction all he wanted, but Clint could read him like an open book. The deal was done.

"Rogers," the boss snapped. "Make a note."

Rogers stepped forward with a notepad, clumsily uncapping his pen.

Oh, how adorable they all were. How eager and trusting. Clint almost hated to rain on their parade. Almost. His anniversary was tomorrow and there was no way in hell he would let these guys off lightly for ruining his special time with Phil.

"So, the first code is ten digits," he said, watching as Rogers' hand hovered over the page. "7-8-9-0-6-5-0-2-3-2."

It was pretty much the actual code. Well, only so much in that both codes had ten digits. So, not at all, actually.

He rattled off the rest of the codes he had promised the boss and then sat back expectantly in his chair. "So, I'm good to go now, right?"

The boss smiled a predatory grin. "Not yet, Agent Barton. SHIELD isn't known for being trustworthy. I'll have to verify your information first."

It was just as Clint had hoped. The big boss was going to look into this himself. And while the boss was away, Clint would have a field day with his dim-witted minions.

But he plastered on an expression of righteous indignation. "I'm telling the truth," he insisted.

The boss' smiled stayed firmly in place. "In a few hours, we shall see. The boys will look after you until my return. Boys, put him in the vault."

Rogers and Davis took him by the arms and marched him down the hallway and through a huge vault door. The room inside was small with no windows, no vents, no other exits that Clint could see. Damn. It looked like he'd have to wait for a rescue after all.

"This is where we keep all our trickiest prisoners," Rogers said with barely disguised glee. "Door only opens from the outside. No chance in hell of you escaping this one."

Clint rolled his eyes as they secured him to a chair with metal wrist straps and ankle cuffs that only chafed a little. "I love it when people think things are escape-proof. I think the universe is obligated to prove you wrong."

"Not this time. Davis, give our guest a demonstration of the door."

Davis tugged at the huge metal door and it shut with a resounding clang.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "So, this door can only be opened from the outside, right?"

Rogers puffed out his chest proudly. "Yep. Let's see you get out of this one."

"Let's see you. You locked us all in here, idiot."

Rogers blinked and looked around in wide-eyed surprise. "Shit! That wasn't supposed to happen. Davis, you fool. You were supposed to close the door from the outside. Demonstrate how it could only be opened from the outside."

"Oops."

Clint sighed. Well, nothing to do now except wait for Phil to find him.

Phil and his hand-picked team were dropped a short distance from the warehouse by Tony and Thor. Tony had complained vigorously that he was only being used as transportation until Natasha had smacked him upside the head.

"These guys hate Clint," she hissed. "We go in guns blazing and they'll probably shoot him."

And Tony had surprisingly shut up after that.

Phil looked up where Tony was hovering overhead, his gaze fixed on the warehouse. "We'll take it from here," he said.

Tony saluted. "Call me when you get him out," he said. "I'm flying him back personally."

"I too wish the honor of escorting our comrade home," Thor said.

"Nope. He's my best friend. He's coming with me."

Natasha sighed. "And they wonder why we're not taking them on the op."

Phil ignored the childish argument happening overhead and loaded a clip of ammo into his gun. "Everyone knows the drill," he said. "We get in, we get Agent Barton, we get out. Do not engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary."

"I'll go first and clear the area," Natasha said.

Phil nodded. He motioned the other agents forward and they pressed themselves against the wall of the warehouse as Natasha slipped in.

There were two guards stationed by the entrance, but Natasha had a gun in each hand. She shot them both with tranquilizer darts and kept on without even breaking her stride.

"Wow," one of the agents said quietly.

"Stop staring and start moving. We have a job to do."

The two tranquilized guards were gagged and cuffed to a drain pipe. They'd come back for them later, after Clint was found.

They followed the trail of unconscious criminals she had left behind, down a long hallway. They finally caught up to her in front of a huge metal door.

She jerked her head towards the door. "He's in there."

"One of them tell you that?"

"Clint did. Listen."

Phil pressed his ear to the wall and faintly picked up a voice singing, "I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves."

He smiled. "That's our Clint."

They placed Tony's new password-hacking device on the door's keypad and within seconds, the heavy door swung open.

The two captors immediately surrendered, practically throwing themselves into the arms of the SHIELD agents. "Thank god you're here," the skinnier man said. "Lock me up, throw away the key. Just don't lock me up with that guy again."

They put up no fuss at all as they were cuffed and led out of the warehouse to wait for transportation to lock-up.

Phil turned his attention back to the last occupant of the room.

Clint grinned at him from the chair. "Hey, babe. Took you long enough."

Phil smirked as he bent down to undo the straps. "I would have thought you would have gotten yourself out."

Clint rubbed at his wrists once they were free. "Tweedledum and Tweedledumber managed to lock us all in here. I wasn't prepared for that level of stupid."

"I suppose I can forgive you for the foresight this time." He tipped Clint's head back, checking his pupils for any signs of drugs in his system. Clint's behavior was pretty normal, but he had to check, just to be safe.

"I'm fine," Clint said quietly. "Just a few bruises here and there. Nobody hurts me but you." His expression was earnest, sincere. And it convinced Phil more than anything that Clint was going to be okay.

He patted Clint's shoulder. "I guess we should tell the others you're safe. They've been impatiently awaiting your return outside the warehouse."

"Like hell I'd wait outside," Tony said indignantly. "Barton, you fuck. You just had to drag us all out here to rescue your sorry ass. I offer you a place in my high-tech, totally kidnap-proof Tower and you'd rather live in a crappy SHIELD apartment with no security. I am deeply, deeply hurt."

Clint arched an eyebrow in Phil's direction. "I think I'm going to take Tony up on the offer," Clint said. "Seems safer, somehow."

Tony beamed. "You and Agent can have your own floor if you want."

Phil nodded. "That would be useful for when we need to debrief." A single room in Tony's Tower would be bigger than his entire two-bedroom apartment. There would be more than enough room to stow all of the mission gear he would ever need.

Clint just grinned widely. As usual, he had other ideas. And since it was going to be their anniversary, Phil was more than happy to go along with them.

"How does that feel?"

Clint tested the bonds. "Nice and tight." Phil had gotten really good at tying knots over the years. When he tied Clint up, Clint stayed tied up, completely at Phil's mercy. And damn was that an appealing thought.

Phil's hands carded through his hair. "Tell me your safeword."

"Rhubarb," Clint said. God, he hated the stuff.

"Good. I'll start the countdown."

Clint closed his eyes and nodded.

"Five, four, three, two, one."

He braced himself for the backhanded slap he knew was coming. "I'm awake, I'm awake," he grumbled.

When he opened his eyes, Phil's expression was dark, his eyes hard and calculating. He suppressed a shudder. He loved seeing Phil like this.

"Agent Barton," Phil said, eyes flicking dismissively over Clint's body. "I expected someone more impressive. You don't really measure up to the talk."

Clint lifted his chin defiantly. "I measure up where it counts."

Phil's lip curled into a sneer. "Pathetic. You think muscles are all that matter?" He gripped Clint's bicep with enough force to bruise. "Brawn's not going to get you out of this, Agent Barton." His expression slid into something a little more predatory. "But, if you are so keen to use your body, I'm not going to stop you."

Clint snorted. "I have a boyfriend at home, you know."

Phil smiled thinly. "He's a very busy man, isn't he? Doesn't have time to take care of your needs the way he should."

"Bullshit."

"Join me, Agent Barton, and I'll make it worth your while."

"Never," Clint hissed.

Phil's hand went to his neck, a quick caress before he squeezed tighter, briefly cutting off Clint's air supply. "Ready to change your answer?"

"I'd rather eat a handful of rhu-" Oh, fuck, he did not think that through.

Phil raised an eyebrow and stared at him expectantly.

"Radishes," Clint amended. "I'd rather eat a handful of radishes than fuck a dirty bastard like you."

There was the barest hint of a smile on Phil's face. He was mocking him. What a dick. Well, Clint was going to get payback.

"I would never, ever cheat on Agent Coulson," Clint said firmly. "I'd rather die first."

Phil's eyes widened just a fraction, the only indication that he was surprised by where the scene was going. But then his smile widened into a wicked smirk. "Little deaths, Agent Barton, little deaths."

Clint exhaled sharply as Phil straddled his hips, taking a fistful of Clint's collar and pulling closer. "What if it saved his life? What if sex with me was the only thing that kept me from killing him?"

"I'm sure he'd rather die, too."

"But what would you think about that?"

Clint shut his eyes. "Rhubarb."

Phil's hands dropped from his shirt. "I'm sorry," he said. "What do you need me to do, Clint?"

"I just-can we not talk about you dying anymore? I don't like to think about these sorts of things while we're playing."

Phil's hand cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Not your fault. I started it. We could have totally played this as 'poor SHIELD agent captured and seduced by the sexy bad guy'. And that's always fun. But I fucked it up bringing you into it."

"What do you need me to do?" Phil repeated.

"Let's just do something easy. No storyline or anything. Just us."

"Sure," Phil said. He leaned forward, taking Clint's ear in his teeth. "I can have you screaming, begging, pleading for mercy."

Clint licked his lips. "Sounds good."

Phil smiled and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "I can have you begging in about five minutes."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, right. That'll never happen."

It actually took just two minutes. But that was okay, because Phil was an expert. What was not okay was the way he kept teasing him. He was completely naked, completely hard, and Phil just sucked another bruise between his shoulder blades.

"Goddamnit," Clint said. "Would you just fu-"

Phil squeezed his cock as he bit down hard on his collarbone.

Clint came with a surprised yelp. "Why did you do that for? I thought you were going to fuck me?"

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet," Phil said, his voice deep and husky.

And twenty minutes later, Clint was finally satisfied. He leaned back in his chair, well-fucked and utterly relaxed. It took a few minutes to register that his wrists were loose and Phil was crouched down beside him, studying him intently.

"How are you doing, Clint?"

Clint laced his hands behind his head. "I think I need a new safeword."

Phil just laughed.


End file.
